


At the Circle

by DualWieldingCousland (DualWieldingMama)



Series: When Life Gives You a Blight ... [7]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-16
Updated: 2016-03-31
Packaged: 2018-05-14 07:54:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5735689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DualWieldingMama/pseuds/DualWieldingCousland
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They’ve made it to the tower in search of mages to help rid Connor of his demon, but upon arriving, Regan, Alistair, Jasper and Leliana discovered that the tower had been overrun by demons and the templars were just waiting for the Rite of Tranquility.  That wasn’t going to work for Regan, so she decided they needed to clear out the demons themselves.  Inside, their group met Wynne, a senior enchanter in the circle, who wanted to save the circle, if she could.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The First Few Floors

**Author's Note:**

> Rated Mature for content in a later chapter. I decided to keep all the events at the Circle in one thing with multiple chapters. There will be variations to what actually happened in the game, because some things just needed to change.

Could _nothing_ go right?  First, Redcliff was besieged by undead and the arl’s son possessed by a demon; not to mention the arl, himself, being poisoned.  _Then,_ there was that stupid argument with Alistair about how to get across the lake; why hadn’t she just _listened_ to him in the first place?  And _now_ , the circle was overrun by _more_ demons, and they couldn’t unpossess Connor without first unpossessing the tower.  And there were _children_ still locked in here.  The templars had simply barred the doors to keep everyone … mage, templar _and_ demon alike, inside.  If it hadn’t been for the efforts of the older woman now accompanying them through the corridors, there might not have been any mages left.

“So what’s the best route through the rest of the tower?”  Regan and the mage, Wynne, walked a little ahead of Alistair and Leliana, largely because Wynne knew where she was going.  And while Regan trusted herself to be able to handle anything that jumped in _front_ of them, she wanted someone she trusted watching their rear, especially since she had opted to leave Jasper behind to help protect the children and other mages who had managed to remain safe so far.

“There really is only one way up or down.”  Wynne explained the rather standard layout of the tower, guiding the young woman over to a large map of the tower in one of the libraries.  

When Alistair realized that the woman who had been a focus of his thoughts for … well, since he’d met her, really … was distracted, and far enough away that she might not overhear, he moved over to help Leliana look through a pile of books for any clues that might help them figure out how to handle … anything.  “You’re … female, Leliana, right?”

“I am?”  Leliana looked down at herself, the slightly improper fit of the pieced together armor giving a decent view down, if one angled just right.  “When did that happen?”

Oh, for the Maker’s sake.  Why did he always seem to say the wrong thing, _especially_ when he was thinking about _her_?  “I just wanted some advice,” he grumped, reaching for a rather old book that looked … boring.  When she gave him a gentle prod, he signed and ran fingers through his hair.  “What … what should I do it … if I think someone … a _woman_ … is special and …?”  

“You want to woo her.”  It wasn’t a question.  Leliana met his gaze with a not- _quite_ -teasing smile when he looked over.  “Here’s a quick tip; you _shouldn’t_ question her female-ness.”  She sat back on her legs and leafed through yet another tome that was caked in more blood than dust and pursed her lips.  None of these looked like they’d be useful.  “Why?  Are you afraid things will not proceed naturally?”

He looked over his shoulder, worrying for a moment when he didn’t see her where she had been.  But she’d simply moved a bit further down the hall, still taking with Wynne.  Maybe he should ask the older woman; surely she’d be less likely to make fun of him, right?  “Why would they?”  He dug his fingers into his hair again before hurriedly trying to put everything back in place.  “Especially when I do things like ask women if they’re _female_.”

Leliana giggled; she couldn’t help it.  He looked far too much like a frustrated puppy.  ‘It adds to your charm, Alistair.  You are a little … awkward; it _is_ endearing to some women.”

_Some_ women … but … what about her?  “So I should be awkward?”  Alistair fought back his frustration.  Getting a clear answer shouldn’t be _this_ hard.  Did _she_ like the awkward Alistair?  She seemed to, didn’t she?  She never seemed to put him down for it … not … not like Morrigan did, _constantly_.  And even Leliana obviously delighted in teasing him for his missteps with her … and women in general.  Why couldn’t Duncan still be around to ask?   _He’d_ know, surely.  “Didn’t you just say _not_ to do that?”

“Just be yourself, Alistair.”  Leliana sighed and shoved away from the pile of books.  There was nothing helpful there, and they really _should_ rejoin the others.

Maker’s breath, which was it?  First she says _not_ to do things that come naturally – like be awkward and ask stupid questions and all that.  Then she tells him to just be himself, which includes _all_ those things that come naturally.  Which was it?  What should he do?  “All right, just … just forget I asked.”  He stood up, plucking the one book that looked like it might at least give them some sort of clue about who had summoned what or … whatever from the pile.  At least mulling over his quandary gave him something to focus on, other than the fact that often, they were fighting templars who had been possessed.  If Duncan hadn’t recruited him … he might have been one of them.

Another two floors up found Leliana escorting Wynne around, searching for yet another tome that she thought might help.  Regan and Alistair slowly made their way through the rooms, searching for traps, demons or templars that needed to be dealt with.  They wanted to give Wynne plenty of time to find whatever she needed to deal with the things further inside.    After a particularly grueling fight with some sort of heavily armored … demon, Regan plopped down and started trying to clean her blade.  When Alistair sat down next to her, she smiled.  “To be honest, I’m kind of surprised you were alone last night.”

He looked over, startled.  That was an odd way of beginning a conversation, wasn’t it?  “Wh … why?”  He tried focusing on his hands as he slid the cloth along his blade, but he couldn’t stop glancing at her out of the corner of his eye.  

She shrugged slightly, focusing her attention on one particularly stubborn area of her blade.  “Didn’t you see all the women staring at you in Redcliff … and the women we passed on the road … and the women in the tavern last night … and the couple female templars in that main hall ….”  She looked over at him and tried to keep the blush off her face.  Why was she even bringing this up?  What did it matter?  “I … guess I would have thought _one_ of them at least would have managed to sneak her way into your room.”

“You really think Jasper would have let them?”  Alistair laughed softly, trying not to be terribly obvious while watching her.  “Besides, why would they be staring at me?”

“Hasn’t anyone ever told you how handsome you are?”  Maker, didn’t he … didn’t he _know_ he was attractive?  And, Maker’s ass … why had she just said that?  Now he was just going to think she was an idiot.  She knew her face was turning pink; she could feel her cheeks growing warm.  It was true, of course … he was quite handsome, as well as sweet, kind … considerate.   How could he not know these things?

Did she just say … he was handsome?  She _did_ , didn’t she?  Well, no; technically she asked if anyone _else_ had told him that, but … did that mean _she_ thought he was?  “Not unless they were asking for a favor.”  He shrugged, trying not to look like the idea bothered him.  It had happened more often during templar training that he’d like to admit; one person or another, almost always a woman, would tell him how handsome she thought he was, just before asking him to take part in something that would get him in trouble … or let them cheat off his exam … or do this … or do that.

He felt his gut go all fluttery as he watched her cheeks turn rosy.  Maker, he wanted to just reach out, brush his fingertips along them.  “Is this … your way of ….”  He paused, swallowed and couldn’t stop the hopeful smile that grew.  “Is this your way of telling me … _you_ think I’m handsome?”  Was it wrong that he hoped she’d say yes?  Was he a total monster for hoping that she might just … even with everything that had gone on, with everything she’d gone through before even meeting him … she might just find him attractive?  His heart felt near frozen in his chest as he waited for her answer.

She laughed softly, trying to keep from going any more pink.  “My lips are sealed.”  She sucked her lower lip between her teeth and lowered her gaze.  Maker’s balls, why had she even brought it up?  She reached over and rested her hand on his knee, hoping she hadn’t somehow just offended him.

He sheathed his blade before reaching out toward her.  He took her hand and gently pulled her closer, watching as she set her blade aside as well.  Sure, this wasn’t necessarily the best place for … whatever it was he was doing, but … she didn’t seem to mind, and Leliana _had_ said to just be himself, right?  “I’ll get it out of you yet, you little sneak,” he laughed, trying to tickle her side through her armor.  It didn’t work too well, but she played along, laughing and squirming against him.  Maker’s breath, she was gorgeous when she laughed like that.  “So is this the part where I get to say the same?”

“Not … not if you don’t think so,” she hedged, her voice catching in her throat.  Why did wondering what his answer would be make her stomach go into knots?

Did she just stammer?  Was she nervous?  She looked nervous.  Was the idea that he might just think she was beautiful making her nervous?  Did he want that to make her nervous?  “Oh, I think so,” he purred, smiling warmly.  “I’ll just have to spring it on you when it’s a surprise.”  He saw her lips part, corners curled up in a smile, ready to speak; pink still tinted her cheeks and he couldn’t help but stare at those lips, wondering what it might be like to ….

“Come on, you two.  We’re ready to press on.”  

They moved apart quickly, with Regan grabbing her blade and sheathing it as she moved to her feet.  She held out a hand to help him up and chewed on her lip when he came to a stop only inches from her face, eyes locked on hers.  They stood there a moment before she cleared her throat and stepped back.  She ran her fingers through her hair, pulling it out of the sloppy pony tail she’d put it in earlier.  Strands of red fell around her face.  “We … um, we better get moving.”

The group made their way through a few more corridors before finally reaching the next set of stairs.  Regan shoved the door open and froze.  Another demon blocked their path.  Before she could even take a step toward it, she started feeling light-headed.  All she could manage was a quick look around to see her friends sprawled out on the floor.  Then, everything went black.


	2. The Fade: Regan's Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Regan, Alistair, Leliana, and Wynne managed to make their way up several floors of the tower only to run into some sort of demon. Everything faded to blank and … well, that’s where we are now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The dream sequence in the game never made sense to me. If the demon's goal was to keep them in their dreams, why in the Maker's name did the HoF's dream involve Duncan and the Wardens? Wouldn't anything having to do with their actual origin make more sense? So, it got changed.

She sat up, stretched her arms over her head and sighed.  What day was it?  Oh, her bed was so _comfortable_ ; did she really have to get up?  A knock on her door and a familiar voice finally convinced her to get out of bed and dressed.  “One moment, love.”  She threw on her best gown … why did she have this sudden feeling like she should _hate_ this dress?  She pushed the thought from her mind, laced up her boots and fluffed her hair, eager to see her fiancé.

She pulled the door open and threw her arms around the red-head waiting for her.  “Is it time for practice already, Rory?”

“That it is, love.”  He tightened his grip around her and spun.  “The priest is here to go over placement and tell us when to march where.”  He finally set her down and guided her through the halls toward the chapel.  “Your mother is about to have kittens; you’d think it was _her_ getting married again instead of us.”

“She’s just afraid you’ll change your mind.”  Regan glanced around her room one last time, trying to shake the feeling that something … _someone_ was missing.  It must just be pre-wedding jitters.  She’d heard enough of her mother’s ladies-in-waiting gabbing about it recently.  Of course nothing was missing.  She had all she needed right next to her – the man she’d fallen in love with and would finally be able to wed.

The pair moved quickly through the halls, nodding at the guards as they passed.  She noticed a few mabari puppies scampering about, and couldn’t help but wonder why they were out running around the castle instead of in the kennels.  “Do you think one of the puppies might choose me?  I would so love to have my very own mabari.”  Why did that sound … wrong?

“Perhaps, dearheart.”  He stopped and smiled as she dropped to her knees to tickle the tummy of a puppy sprawled out at her feet.  “It seems one may have heard you.  Would you like it as a wedding gift?”  Her answering nod drew a smile, and a question.  “What would you like to name him?”

She ran her fingers along the puppy’s chin and belly before looking up at her fiancé.  “I … I think I’ll name him Jasper.”  Why did that sound so … familiar?  Did she know someone with that name?

A cold nose to her hand pulled her from her thoughts.  The little puppy stared up at her, nosing and licking at her palm.  There was something … something about those eyes.  The way they looked up at her … seemed so familiar.  What was wrong with her?

“I think that’s a perfect name.”  Rory held out a hand and pulled her upright.  “We can bring little Jasper with us to the chapel, and then you can spend the rest of the day getting to know your new pup.”

        ***       ***       ***       ***       ***       ***       ***       ***       ***

“We have a little time before dinner, love.  Is there anything you would care to do to pass the time?”  Roland rested a hand against her back as her arms slid around him.  The little mabari pup stood on his hind legs next to her, front paws scrambling for purchase against her skirt-covered leg as he _tried_ to stretch up … tried to reach her hand.

“Perhaps we could visit the practice fields,” she suggested, finally noticing Jasper’s attempts at getting her attention.  For the first time that day, she felt certain that what she’d just said was _right_.  She plucked up the puppy and carried him along, leaning against Roland as they made their way to the fenced area where her father’s knights and squires trained.  

She watched Ser Andrew, one of the newest recruits to her father’s knights, face off against one of the senior knights under Roland’s command – Ser Temmerly.  Her fingers twitched as she watched the men move around the field.  Ser Temmerly’s form was sloppy, but he was known for preferring power to finesse.  Andrew was doing well enough to fend him back, but she knew he wouldn’t be able to hold off defeat if he didn’t _move_ more.  She … she could show him the best way of … defeating ….

“You’re not thinking of dirtying your dress by actually _participating_ , love … are you?”

A hand dropped onto her shoulder as she started to climb over the fence separating her from the field.  She brought her leg back down, flushing slightly at the suggestion that she would so such a thing.  Something was wrong.  Why did that not sound _right_ coming from him?   _Especially_ with it being directed at her?  Regan pursed her lips, fingers still … twitching, like they wanted to grab … a sword and shield, like her brother and father?  No.  A bow?  No … her hands wanted blades … two of them.  Why did her fingers feel like they wanted to feel the weight of weapons clutched between them?

“You know your father … and your mother wouldn’t approve.”

She met his stare with confusion.  Nothing was sounding right anymore.  Nothing was _feeling_ right.  She opened her mouth to say … something … when Jasper darted out into the practice field.  

“Jasper, no!”  Without a second thought, she practically vaulted over the fence, grabbing the first thing she ran past to protect her puppy – the family sword.  

Jasper came to a stop in front of Ser Andrew, turning to growl as menacingly as a puppy could at the approaching Temmerly, though his rear end was wagging so hard he nearly fell over.  She watched as Temmerly’s blade started down, apparently intent on taking out the pup before getting to Andrew.  One chance was all she was going to get.  She dropped to her knees and _slid_ between the men, bringing her blade up just in time to block his.  How in the Maker’s name did she know how to do _that_?  The jolt of blade against blade sent vibrations down her arm.  Time froze as she first stared into the eyes of her puppy … then the full grown mabari he should be.

She felt something press against her free hand … then someone take her fingers and wrap them around whatever it was.  A quick glance over; Ser Andrew was just stepping back as her fingers clenched the hilt of his blade.  

“You’ll need this,” he whispered before drawing another from the ether.  “Stay sharp.”

Realization settled like a stone in her stomach.  Andrew had been one of her dearest friends among the knights … and he was dead.  She remembered now.  Temmerly had been one of the men Howe had brought to the castle _that_ night.  Ser Andrew was _dead_.  Ser Gilmore … _Rory_ … was dead.  This wasn’t real.  She glanced down at her clothes, the dress fading into the leather armor she’d worn to the circle, then looked back at Jasper, and finally up at the blade hovering just above her head … and _shoved_ … with all her might before rolling out of the way.  

Standing with Ser Andrew’s … ghost – that was the only word she could think of for it, she stared back at Ser Temmerly _and_ Rory, feeling her heart break just a little.  “You’re dead,” she whispered as the red-head she grew up loving approached, sword and shield in hand.  

“Dead?  Me?”  He laughed … a sound that was not _quite_ right.  “It was close; I’ve been nearly dead a few times, but never _quite_ made it all the way.”  Roland stopped just out of reach, relaxed and smiling … as if nothing out of the ordinary was going on, with Ser Temmerly at his side.  This was just another … training exercise.  “We’re just getting ready for your next lesson.  Ser Temmerly and Ser Andrew offered to help.”

“That’s … not right.”  She shifted, adjusting her grip on both blades as her eyes darted from the red-head to the blonde and back again.  “You … _you_ took Ser Temmerly to my father … had him sent away for … attacking me after he lost a match.”  Memories came flooding back … the nerves she’d felt facing off against a man much larger than her, the pain when he’d barreled into her _after_ yielding, … the fear she felt as he worked to rip her shirt off in front of _everyone_ … and the relief she felt when Rory had shown up to save her.

“Nonsense, pup.”  Ser Temmerly took a step forward, lips curling up in what was sure to be an attempt at seductive smile that only came across as grotesque.  “Ser Gilmore only wanted to lecture me on proper behavior when dealing with the Teyrn’s daughter.  I will say I let my temper get the better of me that day.”

The hair on the back of her neck rose hearing the term of endearment her father had often used come out of _his_ mouth.  “You’re lying!”  A quick look at Ser Andrew had her dropping into a fighting stance that the Rory _she’d_ known wouldn’t be familiar with.  Wherever this was, she didn’t know how much this version of Ser Gilmore knew.  “Where are Wynne and Leliana?  Where’s Jasper?  Where’s _Alistair_!”  She felt the mabari stiffen next to her, heard his blessedly familiar growl … felt it echo in her head.

“Foolish girl,” Roland snapped.  “Is this not what you wanted?  Not what you dreamed about for _years_ at home in your bed?”  He gestured wildly, encompassing the entirety of this version of Highever.  “Am I _not_ what you laid awake thinking about … marrying your _knight_ , despite your mother’s objections?”

“A dream … this is a nightmare.”  The realization hit her instantly.  How else would this … _thing_ … know what she had dreamed of as a youth?  Everything came flooding back.  The rush to flee Highever, the trip to Ostagar with Duncan, meeting Alistair and the others … fighting alongside Alistair, talking with Alistair, thinking of Alistair … _dreaming_ of Alistair – everything that the demons had tried so hard to bury, to hide … everything … came rushing back.  “All _lies_.  The Highever I knew, the _Rory_ I knew … they’re gone.  This … this is a mockery of things I loved.”

“So be it.”  Roland’s voice changed … became something unlike anything she’d ever heard before, and he charged.  

Caught off guard, she would have been hit had the … thing that was Ser Andrew not shoved her out of the way.  The jolt from hitting the ground shook off the last of the disbelief and Regan flew into action.   _This_ was the sort of fight _her_ Rory had trained her for, and by the Maker she was _not_ going to let him down.  With Andrew and Fade-Jasper … or whatever spirits were pretending to be them, at her side, her blades took on nearly a life of their own, blocking and striking faster and harder than she ever had before.  

It felt like hours had passed before Temmerly was vanquished; his form faded into nothingness as the Cousland family blade drove into his chest.  Ser Andrew was gone.  A lucky … or good … shot from Roland had sent him back to the ether a few breaths ago.  And Regan’s blades blocked strike after strike from the thing wearing Rory’s face.  Fade-Jasper leapt, dodging the sword strike and somehow landing against his shield with enough force to knock him prone.  Regan took the opening and darted forward, standing so all her weight was on his sword arm.  Fade-Jasper kept his shield pinned.  She brought the tip of the Cousland sword to his throat and bit back a sob.  “Don’t … don’t make me do this.”

“You can’t win.”  The Roland-who-was-not-Roland scowled, ignoring the position he was in.  “There is no escape for you, or the others.  Your precious _Alistair_ is as good as dead.”

With tears in her eyes, she pulled back and drove the blade into his chest.  “Lies,” she hissed as she felt the blade hit earth.  “We _will_ get out of here.  All of us.”   _Especially him_.  A glance over at Jasper made her stomach drop.  As she stood there, watching helplessly, he simply … faded from view.  Exhausted, upset, and more than a little freaked out, she slumped against the nearest thing she could find – a strange pedestal with a bowl of liquid at the top.

She felt the world lurch, a kind of … yanking on her insides, and suddenly she found herself somewhere else, face to face with … well, she didn’t know _who_ he was.  But he looked like a mage.  Still carrying the Cousland sword and the blade Ser Andrew had slipped to her, she approached him … carefully.


	3. The Fade: Wynne & Leliana's Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Regan’s figured out where she is … sort of. And she kind of knows what she needs to do, thanks to a strange mage she met. Now, she’s searching for her friends, trying not to die in the Fade.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, some game-divergence in regards to what actually happens in the fade. It's been a while since I've played Origins, and couldn't remember exactly what was said or happened, but I think I kept it kind of close, at least. These two were lumped together because, well ... they're not AS critical to Regan & Alistair's story.

If someone had told her that coming to the Circle to get help for Arl Eamon would mean that she and her companions would be thrust into the fade, she might have actually reconsidered.  They’d somehow been separated, and to get anywhere in this insane place, she had to fight her way through demons and other _things_ until she could find some stupid … bowl of water was the only way she could think of to describe it.  Every time she found one and touched it – the first time had been a total accident – it … jumped her somewhere else in the fade.

She’d already managed to … kill whatever demons that mage had said were protecting whatever creature was keeping them here?  Vanquish?  Destroy?  Temporarily displace?  Whatever she actually _did_ to those demons, Regan _had_ to find the others.  How long had she been here?  It _felt_ like an eternity.  How much time had passed in the waking world?  Did Eamon still live?  Where in the void _was_ everyone?  At least the unsettling sensation of that transport … thing … was getting less unsettling; a thought which was unsettling in itself.  She dug her fingers into the corners of her eyes and looked around the newest … island?

It … looked a lot like the circle, actually.  Stone walls rose high, running in an almost circular direction.  She tried a few of the doors lining the walls, but they were locked tight.  Bodies, mages and templars alike, littered the floor; blood stains decorated the walls like the one time Oren was let loose in Highever with a canister of dye.  With little other option, Regan followed the corridor until she saw Wynne, kneeling next to the body of a young man.  It was obvious he was dead; his head was turned at an unnatural angle and … well, he was starting to smell.  

“He’s dead, Wynne.”  Not the _best_ greeting she could have chosen, but … she didn’t know how much time they had left, and she still had to find the others.  At least she had the decency to sound apologetic.  “There’s nothing more you can do for him … or any of them, here.”

“How can you say that?”  The mage glared at her, eyes red-rimmed and still wet with tears.  “I could have _helped_ them … healed them.  I could have _stopped_ this somehow.”  She gestured around at the stacks of dead bodies that had appeared out of nowhere.  “There blood is on my hands.  And yours; how could you let this happen?”

Regan didn’t know _what_ to say.  She knew none of this was either of their faults.  It couldn’t be.  The demons in the Fade were just … messing with them.  Wouldn’t a _mage_ know they were in the Fade?  Hadn’t she heard … somewhere … that mages could enter the Fade, whenever they wanted?  Wouldn’t Wynne _know_ this was just a trick?  “You’re a mage, aren’t you?”  She had to check … maybe she was remembering false information planted by whatever demon was keeping them here.  

“I am a Senior Enchanter, yes.”  Wynne pushed herself to her feet, unsure where the girl was going with this line of questioning.  

“Then shouldn’t you be able to tell when you’re in the Fade?”  Maker’s ass, she hoped she was right.  Otherwise, this could end very badly.

Wynne opened her mouth to say something, then shut it.  What the girl said made sense, in a way.  There was something off about this place.  “The Fade …?” she repeated finally.  “You … you may be right.  But … how?  Who sent us here?”

They didn’t have time to contemplate an answer.  As soon as the Wynne accepted that they were in the Fade … never mind how the two of them could be there together when one wasn’t a mage … the corpses surrounding them started to move.  

“Well … shit.”  Regan glanced at the mage and sighed.  At least she wouldn’t be fighting alone.  “Gotta find a pedestal … thing; it’ll get us out of here.”  She dodged one fireball and ducked under a second as she stabbed at the nearest undead mage.  “It’s probably about waist-high ….”  She twisted to the side to avoid a lightning strike and swung out with one blade.  “… and has a bowl of … it’s not water, but _some_ kind of liquid.  Just … ow!.”  She was knocked to the ground by a blast of … something, hitting her shoulder against the wall.  For a dream, this place felt far too real.  “Just don’t touch it without me.”

Finally, the pair found and made it to the pedestal and the last of the corpses fell, hit by a blast of cold from Wynne.  “Thank you for helping me see the truth.”  She placed a hand gently on Regan’s shoulder and smiled, mouth opening to say something else when she started to fade from view.  “What?  Where are you …?”

Regan’s head dropped as Wynne vanished, leaving her alone … again.  She hoped the mage was waking up … or whatever you called it when a mage left the Fade.  But, it would have been nice to have some company.  She took a breath and reached out for the pedestal, hoping it would take her to Alistair.  There was a small pang of guilt when she realized she’d rather find Alistair than Leliana, but … if she was being honest with herself … he was the _only_ one she really wanted to track down.  

Her … dream, while it had been _exactly_ what sixteen-, seventeen-, eighteen-, and even nineteen- year-old Regan had wanted … things changed after she left Highever.  She still thought of finding the one she’d be willing to marry, not that she’d ever tell anyone.  But it wasn’t Rory; it could never be Rory.  Sure, she’d only known him for a short time, but … she felt something in her gut that she’d never felt around anyone else.  Alistair made her feel … _special_ in a way that not even Rory had.  If _anyone_ would have managed to keep her in that dream world, it would have been him.

The jolt was different this time; a tug at the mind instead of the gut.  And when she looked around, she had absolutely no clue where she was.  The walls were lined with candles and bookcases, the floor cluttered with pews, in no real formation.  She saw a few … people … sitting, some kneeling, all with heads bowed; she made sure to note each one’s location.  Then she heard a familiar voice reciting line after line of the Canticle of Threnodies.  At the front of the … chantry, she supposed … stood a harsh-looking woman in robes typically worn by a Chantry’s Revered Mother.  And kneeling in front of her … was Leliana.

Surely it would be easier to convince Leliana to come with her than it was Wynne.  With what she’d learned about the bard, she couldn’t believe the woman would be happy praying all day again.  Not after being out in the _real_ world.  “Leliana!”  She hurried through the haphazardly scattered pews, ignoring the repeated shushes from the various people around the room.  “C’mon, Leliana, it’s time to go save the world.”

“ _Sister_ Leliana is in the middle of prayer, young lady.  She cannot leave.”  The Revered Mother glared over the tip of her nose at the armored woman.  “She still has seven more stanzas to recite from this canticle.”

“Don’t really have the time, Revered … well, whatever you are.”  She bit back a smirk as she heard a few gasps from the pews, focusing on the stunned look on Leliana’s face.  At least she had the woman’s attention.  “Been through this twice now.  Fade ….”  She waved her hand to encompass the whole area.  “Demons ….”  She pointed out toward the people in the pews, pretty sure that every single one of them would be attacking shortly.  “Demon ….”  She gestured toward the Revered Mother, who was looking none too pleased with the current interruption.  “And we need to go.  Still have to find Alistair.”

“What are you talking about?”  Leliana stared up at her friend, trying to make sense of what she was saying.  “I need to continue the chant, Regan.  Please leave me in peace.  I do not wish to fight.  I have seen too much death already.”

Regan sighed and rubbed at her eyes.  She wasn’t any _good_ at stuff like this.  Why didn’t anyone just _listen_ to her?  Sure, Leliana knew she wasn’t as religious, but … she’d never done anything blatantly disrespectful towards a member of the Chantry.  Wasn’t _that_ evidence enough that something was off.  She drew her blade and pointed it at the Revered Mother.  “We _both_ know how this is going to go.  Do me a favor, and drop the disguise, at least?”  

She was … surprised, to say the least, when the first demon obliged.  The Revered Mother’s appearance faded into a … well, something that looked like a giant eel with arms.  It would have been a tough fight just one on one, but there was the added difficulty of having four _other_ demons coming at her from the side.  

“Could use some help here, Leliana!”  She jumped back, just barely avoiding a swipe from the demon’s claws.  She didn’t know why her approach with the former lay sister was so different from Wynne, but … it seemed to work … a little.  The bard scrambled out of the way long enough for her chantry robes to morph back in to the armor she’d been wearing and her bow to appear in her hand.  

“Andraste have mercy!”  Leliana stared at the sudden change in … well, everything.  The walls of the chantry went from pristine to covered in blood.  Pews went from upright though crooked to knocked over and broken.  And the people … the innocent people she’d seen praying … were gone, replaced by more demons.  She began loosing arrows as quickly as she could, trying to keep the smaller ones away from Regan and the larger demon.

Regan twisted and turned and rolled to stay just out of reach.  This was taking too bloody long.  Without thinking, she reached for a pouch at her belt.  One of the men she’d taken lessons from as a teen had taught her how to make what amounted to a smoke pellet.  She had them in the real world.  She _hoped_ they were still there in the fade.  It was her only real shot.  

“Perfect.”  Her fingers closed around one of the pellets.  She’d have to make more, soon … if they ever got out of this insane place.  After another dodge, she broke the pellet beneath her foot and disappeared in a puff of smoke.  She snuck behind the demon she’d been facing off against and drove both blades deep … and then there was nothing.

“They … disappeared?”  Leliana looked around, arrow still nocked.  “How did you … ?”  

“Help me find the pedestal.  I still have to find Alistair.”  She couldn’t be bothered with the hows just yet.  She’d make something up … later.  

“A pedestal?”  

“You know … tall, skinny thing with a bowl of ….”  Regan looked around and _finally_ came across what she was looking for.  “There it is!”  She called for Leliana, turning to wave her over, and … saw nothing.  “Void take it.  Can’t anyone stick around after I save them?”  She hated to admit it, but company would have been nice.  Nervous, she reached out and touched the pedestal.  And for a third time, the tugging feeling came from somewhere new.  This time, it was in her chest.  The romantic part of her would have said it was her heart.


	4. The Fade: Alistair's Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Regan has managed to find all of her companions, except for Alistair. She was starting to get worried. But she’s made yet another jump to yet another “island”. What would this one bring?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK. This chapter is the reason for the Mature rating. Nothing is explicitly spelled out, but there is some intimate interaction. Plus, there is some NSFW art that goes with this (commissioned from botticella89 over on Tumblr) as well. (I swear, the art is amazing. I can only hope words I put with it go half as well). So, yeah. This chapter is kind of NSFW.
> 
> Also, this doesn't quite match the dream in the game. I always thought they way it played out was kinda meh ... so .... here we go

“Andraste’s balls, I think I’m actually getting _used_ to that.”  The idea did not make her feel all warm and fuzzy inside.  She didn’t _want_ to be used to this weird pedestal-travel system that the Fade was throwing at her.  It still freaked her out that she was actually _in_ the Fade, and aware of it.  This just shouldn’t be happening.  But she’d found Jasper, Wynne, and Leliana … or, she thought she had, anyway.  She hoped they were all OK.  

Where was she now?  A cursory glance around told her she was in Denerim … the Market district if memory served correctly.  When was she here last?  Maker, it’d been _years_.  She slowly wandered the streets, only glancing over at the stalls when people called for her attention in order to figure out just how many things she’d need to fight later.  She needed to find Alistair.  She just hoped she could pull him out of whatever dream he was having.

She wove her way through stalls, starting to wonder if she was ever going to find him.  She hadn’t had to walk this much when trying to track down the other two.  Regan was about to lose hope when she nearly tripped over a small child.  Before she could apologize, the little girl spoke.  “Oh, you must be Uncle Alistair’s friend!  He’s been waiting for you.”  She reached up and grabbed Regan’s hand, pulling her along.

“Wait, slow down,” Regan begged, stunned at the girl’s speed … and strength.  “What do you mean he’s been waiting for me?”

“He said you’d be along.”  The girl beamed back at her, like nothing was wrong.  “Told Mama someone _very_ special was coming for dinner.”

What was going on?  None of the other dreams, except her own, had anyone actually make contact with her, let alone try to lead her somewhere.  The girl finally dropped her hand and ran off when they neared a non-descript house.  Out front was a sign showing a washboard.  Why was she at a washer-woman’s house?  Cautiously, she followed the direction the girl had run off, working her way around to the back of the building where she just … stopped.  

He was there, bare chested and dripping with sweat as he swung an axe into a log, splitting it into pieces.  There was a pile of split wood just beyond the stump he was using for support, and a pile of logs waiting to be split next to him.  If she had to guess, he’d been at this for hours, judging by the pile.  

She really _should_ go over to him.  Stop him and wake him up or whatever she’d done to get Wynne and Leliana out.  She should, but … something kept her rooted to the spot.  Her eyes followed his movements, watching as muscles in his arms … his back … shifted, stretching and pulling back with each swing.  Andraste’s ass; it wasn’t fair that he was so damned attractive.  She’d never have a chance with him.  A soft gasp escaped when she saw him stretch his arms over his head after tossing the last bit of split wood to the side.

His head whipped around at the sound, the surprise on his face melting into one of utter joy.  “You’re here!”  He took a step toward her, calling back over his shoulder, “Goldanna … kids … she’s here!”  One more step, and suddenly he was right in front of her, arms wrapping around her, pulling her against that hard, sweat-moistened chest.  “I was _just_ thinking about you; isn’t that just a _marvelous_ coincidence?”  He hadn’t felt complete since they’d somehow gotten separated all that time ago.  Now that she was _here_ , everything was perfect, wasn’t it?

She froze, unsure exactly _what_ she should be doing.  She certainly knew what she _shouldn’t_ be doing.  She shouldn’t be enjoying the feeling of being in his arms like this.  She shouldn’t be wanting to run her fingers through the soft dusting of hair along his chest or follow it down the plane of his stomach; shouldn’t be wanting to taste the sweat of his skin beneath her lips as her fingers explored his skin.  She shouldn’t be wanting him to hold her, touch her, _kiss_ her.  She shouldn’t, but Maker’s breath, she did.  “Al … Alist-“

“Who’s here, Alistair?”  

The unfamiliar voice jolted her out of her stunned state … at least a little.  She glanced over his shoulder and saw a strange woman approaching, wiping her hands on an apron, several children in tow.  Her heart sank a little.  Whatever his dream was, it seemed that … he was with someone else.  Never mind the fact that her dream had started out similarly … with her intending on marrying another man; she hadn’t gone through with it.  It looked as though Alistair had.  

Biting her lower lip, Regan pressed her hands against his chest and pushed back, mentally preparing to have her position taken by this new woman … or see him kiss her like she had thought he had wanted to kiss _her_.  “I … um, I should … go ….”  This was going to be harder than she thought.

His arms tightened around her, not letting her move.  “Go?  Why in the Maker’s name would you want to go, love?”  No, no, no.  She _couldn’t_ go.  She’d just gotten here.  Why would she want to go?  Was it Goldanna?  Surely she knew there was no one else for him, right?

_Love?_  Did he just call her … ‘love’?  Her heart thumped in her chest, so loud she could swear people in Redcliff could hear it.  Regan felt his lips press against her hair and didn’t bother stopping her hands from moving to grip his hips.  “I … don’t want to intrude?”

“Nonsense.”  The woman’s voice was almost reassuring as she came to stand next to the pair.  “My little brother has been talking about you almost nonstop.”  Children began milling about, surrounding them, laughing and hugging as the woman went on.  “He insisted you would be coming today and said he couldn’t wait to introduce us.”

“Little brother?” Regan repeated, trying to make sense of everything.  She _knew_ this wasn’t real.  But … it felt …. Maker’s flaming smallclothes, why did it feel more real than the others?  “I … I don’t understand.”

Alistair finally relaxed his grip, shifting her back just enough to smile at her.  “My love, this is my _sister_ , Goldana, and her children.”  He kept one arm around her, gently trailing fingers along her back as the other gestured to the woman and the various kids surrounding them.  “We’re one, big, happy family, now that you’re here.”  Well, she wasn’t part of his family … _yet_.  But, Maker willing, she would be soon.  That was all he ever _really_ wanted … a family … to belong and be loved, like he loved her.

Now that she was here?  Wait … what?  “They’re … this isn’t … they’re demons, you know.”  Her voice was barely above a whisper.  She could feel the pressure of his fingers against her despite her armor.  Wait, where was her armor?  She’d kept it in the last two dreams she’d been in.  But now, she was wearing simple trousers and a loose-fitting linen shirt.  And, Maker, his touch felt so … good.  

Alistair laughed, a sound that made her stomach flutter in a way that she never wanted to stop.  “Oh, everyone says that about their family.”  He kissed the top of her head again and grinned.  “Didn’t you once tell me your nephew was a demon?”  The giggle that answered made him smile wider as he tilted her head so that she could look at him.  “Stay with me?”

“Is your friend staying for dinner, Alistair?”

He bit his lip as her gaze traveled from his lips slowly to his eyes.  He looked hopeful as he asked, “Will you … for dinner, tonight … and every night from now on?”  His head dropped just enough to brush his lips over hers, tongue flicking teasingly against the soft skin.  “Will you stay with me, always?”

She didn’t remember closing her eyes.  She didn’t remember agreeing, didn’t remember saying yes or no or even maybe.  But when she opened her eyes, they were in what looked like Denerim’s chantry.  Her linen shirt and trousers had been replaced by a dress that would have made her mother proud and the Revered Mother was saying something about being bonded in the eyes of the Maker.  She looked to her left and there was Alistair, immaculately dressed in a jacket that looked a _lot_ like the one Fergus had worn during his wedding.  

“Thank you for making me the happiest man in Thedas, my love.”  His lips pressed against hers, tongue deftly slipping between her lips as she could barely make out cheers from somewhere behind them.  His hand drifted down, fingers tickling along her spine until he gripped her rear and pulled her flush against him.  

At least she knew her eyes fluttered shut this time.  Andraste’s knickers, he tasted _so_ wonderful, felt so … so _right_ pressed against her.  She couldn’t stop the soft moan that escaped her lips.  This was so much better than that dream had been … felt so much more … _real_.  

She opened her eyes when a cold breeze hit her skin.  They had moved somewhere else … again – a bedroom … but not one that would fit in the tiny house she’d found him outside of.  It … looked quite a bit like the bedrooms in Highever – high ceilings, sturdy stone walls, large four-post bed, furred blankets, and candles along the walls and on stands.  

She looked down and squeaked in surprise.  Where were her clothes?!  Her breasts were bare, nipples already peaked and surrounded by goosefleshed skin.  Her smallclothes were the only piece of fabric still covering anything, and it was fancier than anything she’d ever owned – all lace and ribbons.  She swallowed thickly, bit her lip and searched for Alistair, eyes widening when she finally found him.

He stood at the foot of the bed, chest bare, a simple pair of trousers hanging loose on his hips, already straining under the pressure of his erection.  “Maker’s breath, but you’re beautiful.”  His eyes dark with lust, he crept along the bed, kissing his way up her legs, breath tickling along her skin.  He paused at the apex of her thighs, tongue and nose teasing through the fabric of her smalls, earning a soft moan that was music to his ears.  “I … am a lucky man.”  His lips blazed a trail up her torso, lingering just long enough to tease a nipple before leaning up to meet her lips.  His fingers dipped beneath her smalls, just barely teasing at her ….

“Al … Alistair, wait ….”  She didn’t know what was happening.  She knew what she needed to do, but … why was he making things so _hard_?  Her words came out in soft pants as she tried to make her brain work the way she knew it needed to.  “We … we need to … to get out of here.  This … as much as I _wish_ it was … this isn’t real.  Maker’s ass, _believe me_ I wish this were real.”

“Not real, my love?  His fingers stilled, nose still nuzzling at her cheek.  His voice came out husky, laced with barely concealed lust … and confusion.  “How can something that feels so right not be real?”  Andraste take him, she was so warm, so wet, so … so very right.  

“It’s the Fade,” she whimpered, fighting the urge to arch her back and squirm closer to his touch.  “I … I don’t know how, or why … but we … we _all_ got … sent to the Fade.”  She brought a tentative hand to his face, ran her fingers along his skin.  “It’s a dream, Alistair.  One I very much wish could be real one day.  But ….”

“A dream,” he repeated, falling back to his knees, hands leaving their earlier positions to come to rest on his thighs.  Of course it was a dream.  She’d never _willingly_ lay with him … not as a one-time lover … not as his _wife_.  Would she?  She _did_ sound disappointed that it wasn’t real, but … maybe that was the dream playing with him?  “You … you’re not really here?”

“I … I don’t know.”  The look on his face was heartbreaking.  She wanted nothing more than to wrap her arms around him and promise it would all be OK.  “You need to wake up, but … before you disappear on me, I … I need you to remember something.”  Andraste, please let this actually _work_.  If he remembered _anything_ from this … please let it be this next moment.

He nodded slowly, not sure where she was going with this.  “I … I’ll try?”  This was it.  She was going to tell him that none of this was ever going to happen.  It would break his heart … in this dream, in the real world.  It didn’t matter.  But he’d deal, if it was what she wanted.

She took a breath, shifted so that she was on her knees in front of him.  Regan leaned in, slid her fingers into his hair and brought her lips to his ear.  “I love you, Alistair.”  Before he could respond, she shifted, brought her lips to his and kissed him for all she was worth.  Her hands gripped his shoulders, holding onto him for dear life until … there was nothing but air in front of her.  He’d vanished too; she was alone, again, the pedestal she needed appearing just to the side of the bed.  Maybe it was time to get out of this place.  


	5. At The Circle - The End Result

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Regan made it out of the fade. Who survived with her? Will they make it to the top of the tower? Will they succeed? And why can I not write summaries to save my life?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> According to the Dragon Age wiki, Alistair was born in 9:10 Dragon; Cullen was born in 9:11 Dragon, which makes Alistair just a hair older.  So, I’m using that information in the course of the story

Regan rubbed her head, trying to clear her head.  That dream had been … it _had_ been a dream, right?  It was all kind of a … haze.  And her head hurt.  She looked around to see the others in various stages of waking up.  Wynne was already on her feet, gingerly prying something from the hand of a nearby body.  Was he dead?  Why did he look familiar?  Leliana looked a little ill: paler than normal and holding her stomach.  She looked for Alistair, finding him still sprawled on his back, eyes closed a few feet away.  His hand was stretched out, as if he was reaching for something, or someone … maybe her.  “Al … Alistair?”  She struggled to her knees and scurried over, hoping he was OK. 

It was all so very dark.  He could hear her … faintly.  She was just there, somewhere out of sight.  He felt her skin against his, taking his hand and holding it tight.  He could hear her calling ... saying his name over and over.  “Reg … Regan?  Where … are you?  I can’t see.  Why can’t I see?”  He started to sound panicky.  Why was everything so dark?

“I’m right here, Alistair.”  She reached out, ran her fingers along the hair right above his ear.  “Just open your eyes.  I promise; I’m right here.”  Andraste’s flaming ass, he _had_ to be alright.  Maker, please say he was alright.

There was a flutter in his stomach that all but sent chills down his spine when her fingers grazed the flesh along the top of his ear.  Something tickled at the back of his mind … something he felt he was _supposed_ to remember.  What was it?  And what was she saying?  He just had to open his eyes?  Oh, that made sense, though he didn’t quite know why they were closed in the first place.  “Right … open my eyes.  I can do that.”  His eyes fluttered open and he saw _her_ … lip half-pinned between her teeth and curled into a nervous smile … staring down at him.  “Anyone get the name of the horse that ran me over?”

She sat back, watching as he struggled to sit up.  “Anyone remember … well, _anything_?”  There were flashes in her mind; small bits of mostly fighting demons … somehow changing forms … and her friends, but she couldn’t remember _anything_ that had actually happened.  And something told her she should. 

Wynne held up the parchment, wishing they had time to do _something_ for the people that hadn’t made it.  The few survivors they had found had been sent back down to the library; she had instructed Petra to resurrect the barrier once their small group had passed, so nothing could reach the children until their group made it back.  She’d speak to Greagoir and irving about it … once they found him.   “I … Niall had this; he wanted to use it to stop Uldred.  I remember … his spirit asking us to take it.”

Regan let Leliana help her to her feet before turning to help pull Alistair up.  When their hands touched and their eyes met, she immediately felt her cheeks grow warm.  Sensations tickling at the back of her mind brought forth images of those hands ghosting over her skin, teasing … tickling … _touching_.  She felt her heart almost still.  He was almost upright when she let go, nearly sending both he and Leliana tumbling back to the floor.  Stammered apologies were quickly made as she darted over to Wynne to … see what she had.  Of course that was all it was.  Certainly it had nothing to do with the warm pink flush overtaking her neck and cheeks.  “What … um, what is this?”

Alistair struggled to remain upright, giving the bard an apologetic thank you as soon as he managed to get to his feet.  He couldn’t figure out what had caused her to let go like that.  Surely the jolt against his skin had just been his imagination, right?  She couldn’t have felt anything when they touched … could she?  He stared at his hand a moment, wondering just what had been the reason for the tingling … the almost memory-like flashes of bare skin against him, of something soft … warm … wet … against his fingertips, of her hot breath against his ear.  Thank the Maker for his armor’s full coverage.  “Yes … what ….”  He cleared his throat, hoping his cheeks weren’t as flushed as he felt they were.  “What … do you have there?”

                                            **********         **********         **********         **********         **********

“Do you think that templar will be OK?”  Regan made sure Wynne wasn’t around and sat up, tucking her leg under her while she turned to look at the person in the next bed over.  They were spending the evening, or at least the next few hours, resting in one of the cleaner dorms.  Greagoir needed time to collect what mages and templars he could to go with them back to Redcliff and help Connor, and their group _did_ need to recover after their ordeal in the tower.  And since she and Alistair were the most banged up, they were confined to beds until Wynne decided they were healed enough to press on.  But neither was really complaining … much.

“Cullen?”  Alistair watched her move, trying to ignore the small nugget of hope in his chest that she might disregard Wynne’s orders and leave her bed to join him.  Not for anything … improper; he just … missed being able to sit next to her, the occasional lingering touch or the not-quite-accidental lean making a dreary night so much better.  The barely noticeable nod was accompanied by that soft smile he liked so much.  “I … hope so.  I’m sure Greagoir will get him the help he needs.”  He hoped so, anyway.  Seeing Cullen trapped like that had hurt more than he would have expected.

She wanted to comfort him; she could tell that finding that particular templar bothered him even more than it had bothered Wynne.  It made sense that Wynne would recognize a templar stationed in her own circle.  But why had Alistair?  “You … you knew … _know_ … him?”  She risked another glance over to the other side of the room, where Wynne and Leliana were sleeping soundly.  Jasper was spending the night away from her, for the first time in she couldn’t even remember how long.  The children in the circle were still scared and one with big brown eyes had begged for Jasper to stay with them; he felt safe with the mabari, he’d said.  How could she have refused? 

He’d hoped she hadn’t noticed.  Of _course_ she’d noticed.  It seemed like she noticed _everything_ when he wasn’t sure he wanted her to.  “I … I guess I used to?”  He sighed, hands gripping the flimsy sheet as he squeezed his eyes shut.  “I … he was one of the first recruits I actually became even sort of close to after … after Eamon left me at the monastery.  Most of the others gave me a wide berth … I’m sure the Arl of Redcliff dropping me off had _nothing_ to do with _that_.  He wasn’t a recruit yet when I got there … didn’t show up for another few years.  And maybe if he’d been given a choice, he wouldn’t have even spoken to me once, but someone in charge decided he should be paired with me once he joined.  Maybe they thought some of his enthusiasm would rub off on me.

“I could never understand why he wanted to be a templar so badly.  I mean, from what the templars said, he had asked _every_ week to be allowed to join until they finally caved.  And Maker’s breath … once he got there, he was a force to be reckoned with.  He always had his nose in a book, when we weren’t at practice or on the training grounds or actually _doing_ something.  For a while, the other recruits tried picking on him.  I’d stand up for him, and they’d stupidly challenge him … or us … and they _always_ ended up trounced.  I’m sure we would have gotten in much more trouble had it been anyone _but_ Cullen ….”  His looked over at her bed and found it empty.  Where had she …? 

Regan couldn’t take it anymore.  She wanted to ... hold him, comfort him … _something_.  Wynne and Leliana were asleep.  They’d never notice if she moved for a bit.  And it wasn’t like she was going _far_ , or planning on doing anything improper; he’d never think of her that way, anyway.  But the sad look on his face … the way his voice kept breaking … he needed her.  So she moved; carefully climbed into his bed and wrapped her arm around his waist.  She gently urged him to lean back so that he was resting against her, smiling when his hand moved to sit atop hers.  “So you were friends?”

“I … I guess so?”  Would it be improper to thank the Maker for whatever motivated her to join him?  He couldn’t explain how comforting it was just to feel her arm around him, her chin resting on his shoulder … her nose and breath teasing along his ear.  “He never seemed to care that I _might_ be related to an arl like the others did.  And he’d _try_ to keep me motivated … to get me to work as hard as he did.  It didn’t always work, but I’m not sure I would have ever lasted as long as I did without his help.  And now, to see all this … to see _him_ like that …; I just … of all the templars I’ve known, _he_ didn’t deserve torture; he didn’t deserve _this_.  He was … _is_ … one of the good ones.”

She didn’t know what to say.  Offering comfort had never been one of her strong suits … not unless it was in regards to losing a match.  _Then_ , she was great at finding the right words.  But times like this, she had no clue.  So she just held him, allowing him to shift around just enough so that he could put an arm around her as well.  They sat and talked in hushed tones so Wynne and Leliana didn’t wake up, until sleep managed to overtake them.

                                             **********         **********         **********         **********         **********

 “I almost do not want to wake them.”  Leliana looked down at the pair of wardens not bothering to hide her smile.  Limbs all a-tangle, they were wrapped up in each other like lovers – his head resting on her chest so that his cheek was nestled between her breasts, her hand nestled in his hair, legs curled around legs like they’d tried to meld into one … both still clothed, of course.  “They look so … cute.”

Wynne had to agree; they almost looked too peaceful to wake … almost.  “If their plight wasn’t so serious, I would consider letting them sleep longer.  But the healing draughts should have had plenty of time to take care of their wounds, and Greagoir’s men are ready to go.”  She started to reach out, intending on merely shaking one … or both of them awake when someone else intervened. 

A pair of paws on the bed was followed almost immediately by a large tongue dragging across the side of her face.  Regan sputtered and waved a hand, trying to fend the canine alarm clock off.  She sat … or tried to, anyway.  Her ability to rise was blocked by a not-unpleasant weight against her chest, and lower.  The smile that grew when she looked down was immediately followed by the rush of heat to her cheeks when she realized that both Wynne and Leliana were standing _right there_.  “I … um … this isn’t ….  Alistair, could you … um ….”

Alistair didn’t want to wake up.  He was in the middle of another wonderful dream … not quite like that last one – the one he couldn’t _quite_ remember, but knew it had ended poorly … or at least with violence.  This time, he just knew he was curled up with _her_ , wrapped in her arms, safe and content.  He could even hear her heartbeat.  Why was someone trying to wake him?  Wait, was that a growl?  That was definitely a growl … and dog breath against his chin … and _throat_.  He bolted upright, eyes darting around the room in search of whatever had been breathing down his neck.  He rolled to get away from the muzzle he knew had to be close … and ended up on the floor with an undignified “Ooof!” before he realized just what was going on.  “I swear, we weren’t doing … it wasn’t what it looked like!”

“Of course it isn’t.”  Wynne laughed and gestured toward the door.  “Greagoir is waiting for us to get underway.”

Regan and Alistair exchanged quick glances, both going quite red before scrambling to their feet.  Neither wanted to admit that they had really enjoyed the comfort of simply being in the other’s arms; it had been a welcome change from … well, everything.  They might not have been quite so embarrassed if they’d woken up with just the two of them present, but to have Wynne and Leliana find them ….

“Yes, well … give … give us a moment to get suited up, and we’ll … be ready to go.”  Regan tried not to notice the little wet patch where Alistair had started to drool.  That was the only possible explanation for why _that_ part of her shirt was wet, right?  Once she managed to get her armor on, no one would be able to see it, right?  She scrambled to pluck up her armor and dress, watching Alistair do the same out of the corner of her eye.  Maker’s balls; he had absolutely no right to look so good in simple tunic and trousers … _or_ in armor. 

Alistair couldn’t help but hope that he’d get to wake up that way again.  Not the dog-tongue in the face bit, but curled up with her … her arms around him holding him close … just being able to snuggle against her.  Maker, it had felt like a wonderful dream.  But would she ever consent to that happening again … when they weren’t so exhausted they just passed out?  He didn’t remember falling asleep on her and was pretty sure she didn’t remember either, or she would have moved beforehand.  “Regan, I … I want to apologize ….”  No, no he _didn’t_ want to apologize, blast it.  He _wanted_ to ask if they could so that again!

She buckled the last bit of her armor on and moved closer, nimble fingers taking over for his shaking ones.  Straps and buckles slid into place with ease.  Regan did her best to quiet her nerves, knowing her heart was racing just being _this_ close to him.  It took more courage than she would have thought to just rest her hand on his shoulder and lean in to kiss his cheek.  “No apologies necessary, Alistair.  I … I didn’t mind ….”  A glance toward the door when Leliana’s voice prodded them to hurry accompanied a faint sigh.  “We better get a move on.”


End file.
